


Felidae

by shellalana



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Action, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Child Death, Gen, Horror, Miscarriage, Psychological Horror, Tragedy, alternative universe, more tags and characters to be added later, since I don't know where this is going ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellalana/pseuds/shellalana
Summary: An alternate telling of Berserk: Casca becomes the Black Swordswoman, cursed with the Berserker armour while taking care of the only person that's stayed by her side since she entered The Band of the Black Dog.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 14





	1. Birman

**Author's Note:**

> Events begin at the beginning of the Falcon of the Millennium Empire Arc.  
> Please keep in mind I haven't proofread or edited this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casca recalls the past events of her current situation.

Casca hated the smell this time of the year, when the rains were long enough to be annoying but not potent enough to wash away the blood that clung to the leaves beneath her feet. Soggy, they squished beneath her steps instead of their usual crunch and did nothing to support her weight against the bloodied mud that clung to her boots. She should have been used to it by now, she wanted to tell herself. Two years of this should have made it second nature.

A groan of exhaustion told her her charge was having no more of this, all this walking towards… well, nowhere. It had been aimless ever since they’d escaped those freaks from the church, the ones who had called her “witch” to her face. In an old life, she would have given a damn and cut their tongues out. But she was much too tired for such pettiness. Let them keep their words that made them feel safer, that kept her outside their realm of “normal.” Because she was anything but, after surviving an event like the Eclipse.

Demon… demon felt more appropriate. At least that instilled fear instead of the need to cast stones. That kept the people away so that she and her charge could travel more freely.

“Fine, we’ll stop,” she sighed. “Once we get through this forest. Not much further.”

But he wasn’t having any of it, and started chewing through the bonds around his wrists. It was a futile effort, of course; she’d made sure her knots were extra tight this time around. He’d gotten away last time, led her to that encampment full of people who’d deemed her a witch. She  _ should _ have killed all of them to get him back, but they were innocents. Just angry people trying to survive.

Her suggestion didn’t stop him from putting up a fuss. The more he struggled, the louder his incoherent mumbles became, and that would draw the attention of the feral creatures that lived within these woods, both of this realm and the other.

… she probably should stop. Her legs were starting to ache anyway.

She found a clearing far enough off the path that anyone passing by wouldn’t notice them, but close enough that if they needed to make a fast getaway, they could. A crudely-set trap caught them a quick and easy meal of a rabbit, and it wasn’t long before the thing was skinned and skewered over the small fire she’d managed to get going. The smell of the cooking meat was enough to calm Judeau’s nerves and put a pause to his struggling. He devoured his share, the oily juice bubbling from the corners of his lips and dribbling down his chin. His constellation of freckles wrinkled together with each bite until there was nothing left but the grease to suck off his filthy fingers.

At least he was eating today. That was enough to put a smile on Casca’s face.

But he wasn’t content with his share, and started muttering and gesticulating for her half. Wordless sounds that were a reflection of the insanity that had claimed his mind. Once clever, well-spoken, and quick-witted, Guts’ sacrifice of those he’d gathered under one banner had reduced the knife-thrower to a drooling invalid.

“I have to eat too.”

_ Let him starve _ , it chirped in her ear.  _ You can do better without him. _

Not this again.

_ No extra mouth to feed. No one to defend. And one less brand to attract the monsters. _

_ You’ve sacrificed enough for him. _

_ Shouldn’t he do the same for you? _

Turned sick by its words, she tossed the rest of her meal to Judeau, who caught it eagerly and dove teeth first into the leftovers. She could already feel the beast wrapping around her mind, coaxing her to give in to what she’s always wanted.

_ Murder. _

_ Kill. _

_ Tear him apart like Guts would have done. _

The Black Dog, warmonger of the God Hand and arsonist for everything she once held dear. His search for a life with meaning, his aimless wandering… she thought she could have been the one to answer his questions. She thought she could have been  _ that life _ he was looking for. To make him stop swinging around that massive sword for everyone but himself. One selfish night, she thought, would have given him meaning  _ in her _ .

But he’d been punished for nothing, taken by King Griffith himself and shoved into a cell for years without a trial. For the murder of a man the king had ordered, Guts had become his scapegoat while his betrayer received praise for outing and condemning “such a horrible criminal.” He’d lost it then, in that cell, and burned everything to the ground out of pure revenge. And to give himself a purpose: he would murder for no one  _ but _ himself and his pleasures; he would watch their suffering just because he could.

And when she stood against him, fought off the demon spawn that sprung up around her and the Hawks to claim them as their sacrifice, he did nothing but laugh. She could still remember the sound of it, guttural and uncaring as he bared those teeth at her.

_ How could you do this to us _ , she’d asked, tears welling in her eyes as she prepared to sink her sword into the man she loved.

_ You knew what kind of man I am. _

Then he sank his dagger into her eye and lopped off her legs with that Dragonslayer of his. Still laughing before his face disappeared beneath the jagged visor of his dog-like helmet.

She winced at the memory of it, as gloved fingers traced the seams at her knees where flesh met metal. The old man’s work had outlived him, but she was in need of having them looked at soon. The mechanisms that granted her speed required occasional fine-tuning, even with the armour given to her by the Skull Witch.

_ He can be bait. Leave him here to die. _

She felt its hot breath on the back of her neck as it molded and shaped itself into its familiar feline form. Red tear-marks ran down its cheeks and framed its round, flat snout, and short ears topped its head, flicking at every crack and hiss that came from the stoked fire. The eyes burned a horrible green, acidic and poisonous, and it paced behind her on its long legs, tempting. Waiting.

The brand on her breast burned, and she looked to Judeau out of concern. He was clutching his wrist - where his own mark lay - and grimacing against the pain. She’d never get used to this, no matter how many nights she continued to beat the odds. But she’d have to, for his sake.

“Time to go. They’ll be coming soon.”

Judeau began to protest but was soon distracted by the pain further. That meant they were close, too close for them to make a run for it. Not like they could really outrun demons, anyway. They would always be chased, harassed by the creatures of the other-world, clawed and pawed at like hungry wolf-pups clambering for a bite.

There was no time to tie Judeau up again, or to stop him from running off. She was going to have to make her stand here.

She took the flask of alcohol she kept on her hip and dashed it to the ground, forming a crude circle around the small encampment. All it took was a kick to send some of the burning kindling out of the pit and onto the wet path, the alcohol flaring to life. A yank and a snap of cord, Casca cracked open one of the talismans around her neck with her teeth, and sprinkled the smelly powder into the flames; a good luck charm from a practicing witch during Casca’s travels. It sparked and crackled, turning the fire a strange blue colour that also smelled of the pungent powder. It would have to be enough.

The ethereal groans began to fill the air, and the pain in her chest was unbelievable at this point. The spare rope was used to lasso Judeau to her back, making it easier to keep herself between them and him.

God, if only he still had his knife-throwing skills, they would be better off.

Wielding her sword, Casca turned this way and that at each demon that dared to get close enough, that dared to reach across the flames for them. Any weak spots were met with metal and the screams of lopped-off limbs, dark ichor spiraling through the air and settling into thick puddles on the ground.

“They never learn, do they?” she muttered to herself, after sinking her blade into the single eye of a toothless demon, spilling more blood on the muddy ground. It was then that she discovered her mistake, at hearing the steaming sizzle from the ground. They weren’t mindlessly attacking: they were trying to put out the flames.

“Shit.” Her pulse raced as she backed away from the edge, her sword braced in two hands. She would be forced to wait it out, with no guarantees that the protective fire would last that long, or she could continue to fight them off and weaken the barrier further with her spilled blood.

Or she could flee and leave Judeau here as sacrifice.

_ Leave him. He’s been nothing but trouble for you _ .

Casca gritted her teeth and readied her blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fanart I did of Casca in her armour](https://imgur.com/a/un5t93X)


	2. Tonkinese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casca confronts her inner Beast after a fight to keep both herself and Judeau alive.

I won’t leave him.

_ You must. _

He’s all I have left.

_ You need no one else. You never have. _

I need…

Casca’s desperation and anger forced ripples through her armour, sharpened the rust-red metal until it was covered in cruel thorns. Her prosthetic legs elongated and grew slimmer, the feet disappearing until they ended at fine points. Pauldrons rose and edged up her neck like cruel veins, slowly encasing her face. She knew what was coming, what would be the end result. She would succumb more to the inner beast’s desires, allow it to consume more of her soul for its help. She would do it  _ for him _ … because what choice did she have left?

The rest of her thoughts vanished once she was completely enveloped in red, save for a pair of angry, poisonous-green eyes staring at her fodder.

Her prey.

A vicious snarl filled the air as she leapt at the nearest target, swinging her sword with wild abandon. The first was cleaved in two, dropping to the ground in a shower of black ichor. The others paused for a second before convincing themselves that she couldn’t fight all of them at once. She was one woman, bound to helpless whelp, and they had survived eons haunting these bloodied grounds. Who did she think she was?

But one by one they learned their mistake. One by one - or sometimes several at a time - they met their fate at the end of her blade, completely sundered from skull to groin, others with limbs severed before she delivered the final blow. She moved with such ferocity, such speed, that many of them were dead before they’d even felt her blade.

Steam rose from the parted jagged lips of the thorned muzzle, the pointy ears atop the helmet flicking back and forth in search of more enemies. On hearing silence, she finally lowered her sword to the ground to peer at her surroundings. All dead; the fire had died too, with so much of their blood being spilled on it, but there was obviously no need for it anymore.

_ Crunch _ .

Casca turned and pressed her blade to her target’s neck, ready to sever it clean through without hesitation… until she discovered a pair of wet, green eyes staring at her. Barely-visible freckles scrunched together with each sniff from Judeau’s nose as he tried to clamber away from her.

Shit. He’d gotten loose somehow in the fight; she touched at her waist to discover the rope was no longer there. If she hadn’t… if she’d followed through for just one extra second…

The voice of the Beast cackled in the back of her mind as her armour retracted from her face.

“Dammit all to hell…” she muttered to herself, and forcibly cast her sword to the ground. She couldn’t trust herself, not when the inklings of its vicious nature still clawed at her thoughts.

_ You will be rid of him one way or another. I’ll see to it myself. It’s just a matter of time.  _ The Beast curled up comfortably around her violent thoughts, as if keeping them all for itself, and tucked its legs underneath itself for extra warmth. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for her to make another mistake, waiting for her to fail so that she would have to call on it again. Which was inevitable; the demons would continue to come, the dangers would always be there. It was only a matter of time.

The red armour slowly retreated into itself and returned to normal, leaving Casca’s mind shattered. She was deaf to Judeau’s frustrations and tears, trying to collect herself before she lost herself to that dark desire to do away with him.

She could have visited a healer at any time to get rid of this curse. She could have rejected the Skull Witch’s offer of the armour and gone about her way. But it was something she’d said from atop that horse, the Witch’s eyes bearing down on Casca:

“You think you can succeed against him in your current condition?”

Casca ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the breastplate to steady her breathing. The Witch was right: on her own, there was no way she could fight Guts, or keep Judeau safe. She needed help, and if that meant surrendering herself to these dark energies, this curse, to get it, then that was what she was going to have to do.

She only hoped that after it was done, she would be strong enough to fight against the consequences.

She grimaced against the feral cackle in her ears.

“You’re fine, you’re alright…” Casca dropped to her knees before Judeau and waited, her hands folded in her lap. She knew whenever he was like this, she had to wait it out. Any move she made would send him running off again, and she wasn’t interested in another chase. Still, he stared at her with wide eyes, fingers twisted in the simple shirt and pants he wore, his bare feet clawing at the muddy ground and pushing himself away from her. She didn’t have another rabbit to promise him, to bribe him to stay, so she was going to have to wait this out even longer.

“At least get closer to the fire.” She moved away from him, leaving an open path towards the small, still-burning fire. Thankfully, he took it, sitting with his back to it and his knees hugged to his chest. He didn’t plan on letting her out of his sight, or to get any closer.

Sleep would take him eventually, however, his small body succumbing to the warmth as he curled up on the ground. That anger still burned within his tired eyes until they, too, slipped closed. Casca could finally breathe a sigh of relief, but knew she couldn’t move closer; that would wake him and start the process all over again. And what she needed right now was peace of mind and silence so that she could deal with a more pressing matter.

_ It’s about time. I get bored quite easily. _

The sound of rattling chains filled her mind as she felt the Beast drag itself closer. Hair stood to attention at the back of her neck, and she swore she could feel its pungent breath. She shut her eyes and didn’t turn around. It was still the witching hour, and she didn’t need to meet the creature face-to-face. She’d already seen its visage so many times in her nightmares.

Strong as you are, you have no chance against me, beautiful. I’m your darkest desires incarnate. Unless you’re capable of going against your true nature, you should start learning to get along with me instead of fighting me.

What could Casca say to that? The thing had been birthed from her own emotions, her anger, her regret, her bloodthirsty desire for revenge… She had no one else to blame but herself.

And yet, it could be the very thing that carried her through with her self-appointed task: cutting off the Black Dog’s head and placing it on a pike. How possible that was, she didn’t know. Accepting the Gift and becoming part of the God Hand made Guts more than human now; a simple beheading may still not be enough. But the image of his gaping mouth, blank eyes, and blood running down the metal pike was the only thing that brought a smile to her face nowadays.

Quietly, she unclipped the breastplate straps and lowered the metal to the ground to observe the damage. One of the demons had caught her in the side, punctured the armour clean through to her flesh, yet there was only a scar when she lifted her bloody shirt. No hole in the self-healing armour either.

She noticed she was getting thinner every day, her ribs showing a little more, her collarbones a little more prominent. It wasn’t from a lack of eating, either. She made enough money to feed them both when they were near town. It concerned her what this armour was doing to her body.

Next went the pauldrons, then her gauntlets. She felt a million pounds lighter, almost as if she could fly, but it wasn’t a positive sensation. Being this exposed raised a new level of paranoia that always revealed itself with teeth bared. It was why she bathed when she knew she was absolutely alone, having had to tie Judeau to a tree and gag him with her shirt many a time.

Bathing was even worse because it meant she had to remove the prosthetics attached to her thighs, leaving her feeling much smaller than usual. Dragging herself by her hands to the water’s edge and lowering herself in left her the most vulnerable, and on the off-chance that someone were to come along, someone with not-the-best-intentions, she had no means to get out quickly and defend them. Sitting on just her stumps made it much too easy for anyone to just lop her head right off, and she didn’t have the leverage at that height to parry properly.

She was going to have to talk to Farnese about making improvements to the damn things so that she wouldn’t have to take them off.

Casca pulled her long braid over her shoulder and started undoing it, thinking of the old woman in her hut, busying herself with weapons for the Holy Army and their inquisitors. Casca never understood why Farnese even helped them out, after they’d taken her lover so many years ago. “Old habits die hard,” she said, before pouring herself into another sword or mace, sweat dripping from her wrinkled brow, blonde-white hair tied back low on the nape of her neck.

Who was Casca to tell her to stop her life’s work when it had given her the very legs she walked on? She huffed, amused, and combed her fingers through the tangles and knots of her dark, slowly-greying hair.

Just another day of travel and they would be in the safety of Farnese’s hut once more. She could get Judeau back inside that cave, give him a good scrub down, and finally have a peaceful night of sleep under a roof with a hot fire instead of out here in the wilds.

The expectant sigh shook her shoulders with delight.


	3. Siamese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A perfectly peaceful dinner is interrupted by a Grade-A asshole.

The top of the roof crested the hill as Casca and Judeau continued their ascent. She could smell the fresh, humid air of the nearby waterfall and spring, and it took everything she had not to run up there and cast off her armour. Instead, she kept pace with Judeau, who seemed just as eager to get back to this familiar home. Even he looked a little lighter, smiled a little more, once he realized where he was.

Once the hut was fully in sight, Judeau did what Casca had restrained herself from, and sprinted off ahead, his arms flapping about as he cooed excitedly. Isidro was there to meet him, that bright spot of red hair visible even from this far away. They grabbed each other’s hands and spun around in circles, their delighted yells carrying over the hills. Farnese’s small frame followed soon after, grabbing the two up into a hug. The woman was small, but her time with the Holy Knights had made her strong. It was the very reason she was still capable of making weapons at her age.

Casca greeted her with a casual wave, but she was met with something of a scowl from the old woman. A quirked brow arched high on Casca’s forehead. She had no idea what  _ that _ was about. But she didn’t want to ruin the perfect reunion between the two friends. She left her sword by the door and went inside to warm herself by the raging fire that never seemed to die out.

The small home was filled with Isidro’s constant banter and questions, asking where they’d been, what they’d seen, posing them more to Casca than to Judeau. The latter was content enough to listen, glad for the familiarity of the surroundings enough to strip down to nothing. He tossed aside the filthy clothes and sat in front of the roaring flames, arms and legs spread so that he could absorb as much of their heat as possible. His sudden stripping was met with a flyswatter to the back of the head. Farnese stood there, pointing at the stairs with a scowl. She didn’t need to say a word; Judeau knew where his clothes were and what the rules for the house. But that didn’t stop him from sticking his tongue at her before sprinting up the stairs, slapping his bare, freckled butt cheeks at her.

“Isidro, go help him, make sure he gets a bath,” Farnese requested, putting a kettle into the flames.

“But they just got ba-!”

Farnese gave him a look and he disappeared, mumbling incoherent swears on his breath.

Once they were finally alone, Casca took the nearest seat and slumped into it as if all of her string had been cut at once. It was difficult keeping up a front when the redhead was around. He thought the world of her since she’d rescued him from a horde of passing demons in the night. The rest of his traveling circus didn’t make it; it was only his tenacity and accuracy with a slingshot that had kept the demons at bay for so long. Casca had marveled at his tenacity and willingness to fight back, though she never said anything about his tear-stained cheeks or the snot coming out of his nose.

He’d stuck by her ever since then, helping her take care of Judeau when she no longer had the patience or needed to leave for a while, helping to keep the hut safe (though Farnese had assured Isidro several times that that wasn’t necessary with her around), and learning the art of blacksmithing from the mistress herself. He wanted to be useful, he’d told them, because the talents of the circus were only good for the circus, and without that, he had nothing left.

So Casca had taught him to fight, with more than just his slingshot. He’d been stubborn at first, his height making it difficult for him to swing a sword effectively, but it took only a year before his growth spurt had kicked in. Then he was fighting almost as well as she was.

Casca glanced out the window at the field of slightly-frozen grass where they used to spar. The many times he’d fallen and gotten back up again… The memories brought a smile to her face.

Until she felt a flyswatter to the back of her head.

“You’re overdue.” Farnese waved the utensil at her and then smacked it against the thighs of the metal prosthetics. Casca gave her a look with her singular dark eye.

“Like I could just come back without Judeau. Do I have to remind why I had to go find him in the first place?”

Because they hadn’t kept a closer eye on him, because Judeau had snuck out of his cave and gone off in pursuit of whatever delusion had filled his mind that day. Casca had never held it against Farnese and Isidro before she’d left, but if Farnese was going to treat her like this now, it was only fair that she paid back some of that poison.

“Always with that sharp tongue.” Farnese dragged a low stool closer to sit in front of Casca and started rolling up her sleeves.

“Who do think had made it so sharp?” Casca shot back. She allowed her armour to fall to the ground in dull thunks, undoing the attachments of her legs last. The skin underneath had been starting to itch yesterday, which meant there could be an infection. Stopping to take care of it, however, would have delayed them by another. No, she’d powered through it so they could get here sooner rather than later.

Farnese wrinkled her nose when she finally got the metal separated from skin, wrinkled, tentative fingers touching at the scarred skin underneath. Casca flinched and smacked her hand away. She didn’t need the woman prying when her expertise resided in forging metal, not medicine.

“I’ll take care of it,” Casca replied weakly and pulled herself down from the chair to fetch the kettle, snatching a tea towel from Farnese’s belt along the way. Steam poured out of the spout and the kettle gurgled as she poured the hot water into the towel in slow dribbles, waiting until the thing was soaked completely through. After folding it over a few times, she pressed the hot, soaked towel against her stumps, bracing herself for the pain she knew would come. Tender flesh erupted in a shower of agony dancing behind her eyeballs. She should have found something to bite down on first because there was nothing to hold back the scream that erupted from her throat.

Over and over again, she soaked the towel in hot tower and bathed her scars, the aching tender flesh feeling better each time she wiped more filth away. Casca cast a glance at the towel and saw a faint redness to the cloth.  _ Great _ . If she had sores on her skin, then she was going to have to go without walking for a while.

“... that water was meant for tea.”

Farnese had one prosthetic in hand and upside-down, braced against the floor so that she could have a better look.

“Be a dear and refill it for me, please?” She held a magnifying lens up against her eye to take a better look at what Casca had done to her poor things during her travels. She would have gone out to her workshop but didn’t want to inconvenience Casca by leaving her here in front of the fire without her legs.

Casca, of course, made no move to get the blacksmith her water.

“Get it yourself,” she snapped back, content with remaining exactly where she was. She had been through enough since she’d left to find Judeau, and she hadn’t gotten a word of gratitude from anyone. The least Farnese could give her was a moment of peace to relax. Not asking her to do more duties.

Thankfully, the sting of cleaning her sores finally subsided, leaving her a few minutes before the fire to herself. Firelight danced in her almost-black eyes, almost hypnotically. Casca soon found herself forgetting where she was, what she should be doing, or any of her concerns.

* * *

_ Casca. _

_ Casca! _

Casca snorted awake not realizing she’d fallen into a daydream of sorts. They’d just finished setting up camp and she wanted a break for herself. Maybe think of something for the chef to make for tonight’s dinner. She’d sent a few of the men out to hunt for wild game until then.

“Casca!”

She stood and turned from the fire, the sting of a sudden cool breeze making her realize just how hot her face was. Though she was sure part of it wasn’t from the fire.

Guts was strolling over, his large sword across the backs of his shoulders, wearing just a tank-top and pants, his usual get-up when they weren’t on a mission. Casca hated that because when he was dressed more casually, he acted less professionally too. That both aggravated and enticed her, especially when he was wearing that toothy grin of his.

“Yes, captain?” she asked sarcastically, giving him a mocking salute.

Guts clicked his tongue against his teeth and rolled his eyes, his hand quickly knocking the salute away from her forehead. Despite being in charge of this band of mercenaries, he never wanted to be treated any different from the others.

“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to lose you to that fire. You looked like you were ready to jump in.” He threw a casual arm around her shoulder, eliminating any escape from his question.

Casca cast a tentative glance over her shoulder at the flames. Maybe she would have if he hadn’t come by. It would have been easier than…

“Ugh. Now you’re getting all emotional again. I’m getting a little tired of all these tears I have to keep wiping off your face.”

Casca knew he was joking, teasing. It was how they preferred to keep things because that made everything else seem...bearable. But he was right; she wasn’t doing well, not after what she’d had to do today.

“Can you blame me?” she muttered, lightly shoving his arm off of her. “You weren’t there to see the light die in her eyes…”

The little girl Casca had had to plunge her sword through. An innocent. Nothing more than a serving girl for the king, int he wrong place at the wrong time. Casca had watched everything, watch the girl cough up blood and slowly grow slack in her struggles until she was a dead weight on Casca’s sword.

She would have thrown up then and there too, if not for the encroaching footsteps of some guards. She pulled her sword from the child’s sternum, deafened herself to the wet sucking sound of metal leaving flesh, tucked her hood up, and climbed out the nearest window to get away. Only after she’d slid down the roof and hit the ground had she heard the shocked gasps and cries from above. They’d found her. A little part of her hoped that there was something they could do to save the girl, but she knew better. Holding out for hope was never a good mental state to be in.

“You got the job done. That’s all that matters. If you hadn’t, she would have told on you and then where would we be?”

Casca shoved her way past him. Of course he would see it that way - how she should see it too - but that didn’t remove the dead girl’s face from behind her eyes when she went to sleep at night. She shouldn’t be crying for someone she didn’t know, yet the hot tears came quickly.

She didn’t get far before Guts caught her by the wrist, halting her retreat.

“Where would we be, Casca?” His question was stern, his stare fixed. Casca knew the answer, of course. They would all be in prison, or dead from execution. To achieve their dream, they needed to do whatever was required of them.

“Where would  _ she _ be now?” Asleep in her bed, most likely. Dreaming of frivolous things, things that would soon be forgotten by dawn’s light. Casca couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a dream.

Guts slowly released his grip on her, realizing that he wouldn’t be able to shake her from her thoughts. It was what had drawn him to her too, her stubbornness and willingness to put up with his bullshit. To defy him at every cost so that he could ensure he  _ was _ doing the right thing.

But this… this was going too far…

“I’m… thinking of leaving in a week,” Casca finally confessed, thumbing away the cooling tears from her cheeks. She’d been thinking about it for a while, ever since she’d started to doubt Guts’ intentions, thinking that maybe things would get a little better at some point, that he would stop taking such drastic measures to get what he wanted, but she was starting to see the path he was heading in and it was a slow and steady decline towards Hell.

If he thought killing a girl would get him what he wanted - and getting away with it - then she wasn’t interested in having any part of his plan any longer.

She chanced a look at his face and saw nothing but terror. Eyes wide, teeth gritted together, he looked like he was experiencing one of his worst fears.

“You… you can’t. Casca, you’re part of the plan, you’re my second. How could…”

“You’ll have what you want, Guts. You’ll have everything you want, and then that will be that. I’ll help you get your dream, and then I’ll leave, to find my own.”

“I thought-”

“That we had the same dream? I wanted to believe so too, for a long time. But I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore.” Casca sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

She thought she did: she thought she wanted him. But it took the better part of five years for her to realize that his eyes never really shone as bright as when he was in battle, not even when they shared their beds with each other. All that he wanted had nothing to do with her.

“I refuse to let you leave.”

Now he was just sounding like a petulant child having a tantrum. On any other day, she would have found that amusing, but today, it was annoying. Casca’s brow furrowed, lips pursed, her eyes red with anger now instead of tears.

“Unless you plan on cutting my legs off, you can’t exactly stop me.”

* * *

“Casca.”

Isidro shook her from her daydream, a concerned look written on his face. Looking around, she discovered she was back in the hut, the fire still crackling and Farnese still working on her legs. How long had she been out?

The smell of cooking food and the darkened windows told her just how long. She didn’t know why she went back to that memory, the one right before everything went to shit, and cursed the fire for its power over her. Just when she was starting to get into a better mood after her months of being away…

“I’m fine.” She gave Isidro a reassuring smile and pulled herself back over to the table, lifting herself into the chair to spy what had been prepared. A thick stew of some kind and a large loaf of bread larger than her head. Farnese had even pulled out a gourd of wine, something she didn’t do often unless it was a special occasion.

The meal began and continued mostly in silence, save for a few questions on Isidro’s part. Casca answered each in turn, leaving out any details having to do with Judeau and what he’d endured. The latter was doing his part to finish bowl after bowl of stew; no one was eager to hold him back, for fear of getting punched in the face or their hair pulled. He would stop on his own once he was full.

And when he was, he slumped off the chair towards the fire and curled up into a ball, falling asleep right on the spot. Casca couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief any heavier. She went about pouring the wine for the other two at the table, glad that she could finally have and say her peace.

“There’s a war brewing. Not like the old one.” She took a sip, letting the burn of the alcohol linger on her tongue. “This isn’t for territory. This is about… control.”

Isidro visibly shivered at seeing the darkness in her eyes.

“The Holy Knights… they seek to take on The Black Dog themselves, thinking that he’s brought Hell and all its inhabitants to their doorsteps. They seem how much he’s taken for himself and fear he seeks to come for them too.”

“Well, they’re not wrong.” Farnese finally put the prosthetics to one side to take her first taste of the cool stew. “You see someone with that much unchallengeable power, it makes the wheels turn in your head. Makes you think if he can take this for himself, what’s to stop from taking the rest?”

“Guts…  _ he _ … The Black Dog doesn’t care about stuff like that.” Casca pushed her empty bowl away, angry at herself that she was stooping to defend him. She wanted to tell herself that she knew him better than most, but if that were true, she wouldn’t be sitting here without any legs.

“Casca, girl, he doesn’t care about  _ anything _ . That’s the fucking problem.” Farnese downed the rest of her wine and slammed her goblet on the table. “He doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything, that’s how he  _ works _ .”

Farnese stared her down, knowing what she was thinking.

“And if it’s not fucking obvious by now that he doesn’t care about  _ you _ , then you’re just as stupid as those Knights.”

Like a blow to the chest, Casca felt all of her air leave her. Her ribs ached, and she remembered the tender spot where she’d been clawed the other night. She could take care of that wound on her own, later.

Farnese was right, however. It was long past time thinking that Casca could ever pull Guts back from the depths of hellish insanity he’d subjected himself to. Short of a miracle, she was going to have to put that hope aside and face reality: either she would kill him or die trying.

A stinging pain on her breast. Casca looked down to see a spot of blood seeping through the fabric of her shirt. Judeau gasped at the same time and grabbed at his wrist.

“Shit.”

Isidro stopped in mid-chew and saw the stain too.

“Get Judeau in the cave. Legs. Now.”

“But they’re not-”

“ _ Now _ , Farnese.”

The old woman had no room to argue; she knew exactly what it meant when the Brand started to bleed.

“I’ll go with you,” Isidro mumbled with a still-full mouth.

“No,” both women chimed together and pointed to the still-sleeping Judeau. The look of disappointment on Isidro’s face could curdle fresh cow’s milk.

Casca had the attachments in place before he could get Judeau up and moving, pushing herself up onto her legs so that she could grab the rest of her armour. The freshly-washed sores were still tender, and would likely start weeping again by the time she was done.

If she came back alive, anyway.


	4. Sphynx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Said-asshole brought a friend and won't take no for an answer.

Despite not having a real bath, the hot meal had roused a new fire in Casca, gave her some fuel to work with. There was no time to lament not getting sleep or letting her weary bones rest. She snatched up her sword in passing from the doorway and replaced it in its hilt across her back.

She heard him before she saw him, felt a great wind pass over her. It rattled the trees, barren with the onset of fall and the coming winter. She knew that smell too; she’d faced the owner of that stench a long time ago and had barely come out of it alive.

_ Zodd _ .

If he was working with Guts, then…

Casca headed up the hill and spied a pair of great and mighty curved horns, topping the canid-like face of The Immortal. He reared back his head and bellowed into the air, flapping his great wings again then once more. The empty trees shook in response, empty branches rattling dryly against each other. He beat his heavy tail against the ground and Casca felt it quake beneath her feet and up her legs.

And beside Zodd, no bigger than the great giant’s knee, stood Guts. Wrapped in black, serpentine leather, it stretched up and over his face to form the head of a dog. No, not a dog,  _ a great black jackal _ , like Anubis. Sharp teeth of gleaming white framed Guts’ face, mirroring that gleaming white smile he always presented to her. Such as he was now.

They both stood in a field of swords; many were made by Farnese as recognition for each Holy Knight that had fallen, others were made by Isidro, mistakes he’d made while still learning the craft. They all stood as monuments to those who’d been lost over the years. A fitting place to meet her nemesis.

“Casca…” Guts’ voice hissed as she drew closer. She could see clouds of fog rising from his mouth - Anubis’ mouth - giving him an otherworldly appearance. “Is this where you’ve been hiding?”

“Why do you care?” Casca refrained from removing her blade. Instigating him into a fight was exactly what he wanted.

Guts tsked, turned to Zodd, and laughed.

“You hear that? She asks why I care. As if she wasn’t the one who broke my heart.”

The corner of Casca’s eye twitched and she bit down furiously on her lip.  _ Still your tongue _ .

“Perhaps I should return the favour.” Guts tilted his head to one side, his gaze focused on the hut that lay behind her. “Make her heart hurt. Take away everything she cares about.”

To this, Zodd said nothing. He lowered his head, dropped to all fours, and dug at the ground with his hoofed hind feet as if he was ready for a charge. Great plumes of steam rose from his flared nostrils and, with a grimace, Zodd exposed a pair of missing gaps in his teeth. His canines were missing: the only thing Casca had taken from his person and kept as a prize. One of them had been shaped and reformed into the very blade she carried on her back. Farnese hadn’t decided what to do with the other one yet.

Still, Casca had no words to say. She knew that anything she said would quickly devolve into an argument, and that would make him take up his blade against her. And with Zodd at his side, this fight would prove to be more than difficult.

Made even more so with the Beast bristling at the back of her neck. The very sight of Guts had raised its hiss in her ears, though she’d done her best to ignore it. But it was yowling now, like a feral cat desperate for a fight, yearning to sink its claws into the Black Dog’s flesh.

_ Mine _ .

“Quiet down. If we bore him, he may just leave without us having to lift a finger.”

_ Mine! _

Casca bit down on her tongue until she could taste blood, eyes shut tight. Maybe if she forced herself to not see, the Beast would shut its infernal mouth. But blinding herself wouldn’t help; Guts radiated an energy that could be felt from this far away, which made the Beast all the more disagreeable.

**_Mine._ **

Casca’s sword was out before she realized what was happening, the blood-red metal already clawing its way up her neck.

“No, no, no, you stupid fucking-”

She didn’t get to finish, her insult swallowed up in the horrific yowl that filled the air and shook the swords in the ground. Even Zodd took a moment to pause, his ears turned back in confusion and curiousity. Guts seemed to be the only one unperturbed by the sudden display.

“Well, look who got herself some fancy new duds.” He folded his arms over his chest and nodded to Zodd. The Immortal huffed and stepped back, annoyed that he was being forced to sit out this fight.

Gleaming green eyes sparkled and danced in Casca’s bob and weave during her approach, skirting around each blade to keep her attack unpredictable. She even snatched up a couple in passing, a blade in each hand, the one on her back reserved for the final killing blow. The armour opened its great, pointy mouth and yelled again before vanishing right before his eyes.

The suit’s forte lay in speed and reflexes, talents that Casca already possessed. It heightened her natural abilities further, making her attacks almost imperceptible until it was too late. It was what made them work so well together: she fed on its power to keep her alive, while it fed on her soul and humanity to turn her into a killing monster. It was what made her afraid to don the armour near Farnese’s hut, afraid of what she would do to them should the Beast decide that the old woman and the others were next.

One sword high for the head, the other low for his heart, Casca descended upon Guts from above. His arms still crossed over his chest, still staring forward, Casca’s heart sang that he might not have seen her, that she could really do this.

Until that great Dragonslayer of his blocked both of her attacks.

Not that her approach wasn’t entirely fruitless; where she missed with her blades, the sharp points of her feet collided with his armoured thighs, forcing him to his knees. Casca cast the swords aside and retrieved her own, using the momentum to flip backwards off his thighs. A bladed foot railed up over the chest plate, off his armour and caught his cheek. A spray of fresh blood fell onto the flattened grass.

“Almost,” Casca thought to herself. “Just half an inch higher and we would be even. An eye for an eye.”

Once she landed on her feet, she instantly lunged at him again, elbows locked at her sides and bearing down on him with her sword. She couldn’t allow him one moment of rest, not a single second where he could form a defence in his mind, she needed to keep him confused as much as possible so that she could gain the upper hand.

Again, sword clashed with sword. It was difficult to get around a sword that was as wide as he was.

Guts smirked and thumbed away the blood. He licked it off and spat on the ground.

“This is how you greet an old friend?”

Another strike to his plated stomach. He grunted - barely - against the impact.

“Your attacks are pointless, you know that, right?”

A foot connected with the back of his other knee, sending it sprawling to one side and forcing him off-balance.

“Annoying-!”

Casca’s blade stopped an inch from his throat, the metal rattling in her grasp. Zodd’s large hand was around hers, halting her mid-attack. There was no way he could break the sword, created from a piece of himself. It was as immortal as he was.

_ So close _ .

Helmeted teeth came down on the furry wrist and dug in deep. Thick black blood pooled up around the teeth, though Zodd didn’t relent. Casca continued to gnash her teeth back and forth, despite the awful taste in her mouth.

_ You’re too soft on him. _

I’m doing my best.

_ When has that ever been good enough? _

Like a feral animal with prey in its mouth, the gnashing grew in ferocity, Casca’s full body thrashing back and forth. More meat started to come away, more blood spraying across the helmet’s face until the metal teeth felt the dull crunch of bone. It was solid and thick; there was no way her teeth were going to get through that.

“Impressive.” Guts planted a foot on her shoulder and tried to kick her off, but she stuck fast. When he tried again, a metal foot skewered his calf muscle clean through. He exhaled in pain, stared at her in surprise. Glowing green eyes stared back.

The Dragonslayer came down on her shoulder, heavy metal sliding off the angled spikes. Casca grunted under the weight of it, but the teeth in Zodd’s arm remained. She plunged her other foot through Guts’ injured calf and twisted.

A yell escaped him and the Beast cackled. It was the first time in a long time she had heard him in pain, and it made her blood bubble in delight. Music to her ears.

She spat a mouthful of blood into Guts’ face, releasing the grip on her sword, knowing that it was futile to try and wrestle it away from the Immortal. If he hadn’t let go by now, with bare bones of his wrists exposed, then nothing would make him.

The Black Dog recoiled and tried to blink the blood away, hot steam rising from the dark ichor.

The Beast didn’t hesitate to continue its assault, driving Casca’s boy into Guts over and over again. It didn’t matter where or how; she was gone in a flash and reappeared on a different side of him, driving her shoulder into him or trying to skewer him through with the many swords still sticking out of the ground.

It was fruitless, of course. The liquid armour he wore deflected all of it, impervious to any attack that wasn’t aimed at his exposed areas. That meant only his calves, but even his injured, bleeding leg was starting to heal. The flow of it had already died, no longer staining the grass beneath their feet.

**_Mine!_ **

Pain racked Casca’s body as the Beast attempted to further its influence over her, invading her mind with images and words that she couldn’t make sense of. She felt like she was being cast into an inky black sea at midnight, with no moon to guide her way. She was enveloped in nothing but rage, nothing but the Beast’s yearning to see Guts undone, by any means necessary.

_ Let me in _ .

She could; it would be easy. Just let it go and let the Beast have its way. It would be the end of everything: Guts, the Brand, possibly even the demons that existed in this world. But what of the after? If she gave in, if she allowed herself to drown, there was no way of knowing if she could pull herself out of the sea of emptiness to reclaim her identity.

Part of her was also afraid that she wouldn’t want to.

Then she would end up taking Guts’ place, storming across the land and killing everything in her path, without remorse and without purpose. How would that be an improvement?

“No.”

She couldn’t fight here, not with the others so close. If she chose to kill Guts, it would be somewhere far from here, as far away from them as she could get so that they wouldn’t be so close to harm’s way.

“No. Not yet.”

**_Bitch. You’ll be your undoing_ ** .

The screaming filled her ears as she felt the Beast retreat, returning some amount of control to her. Like waking up from a dream, Casca didn’t have much time to take in the scene around her; she needed to act on instinct, continue her assault until she became too annoying for The Black Dog to deal with.

Sword after sword she flung at Guts, disappearing and reappearing at a different location. Guts deflected them all, of course, but being on the defensive kept him from taking a swing at her with his slab of metal. Casca whispered apologies under her laboured breath to Farnese, Isidro, and the deceased the swords stood for. She whispered apologies to herself for even considering the idea of letting the Beast win here and now.

“Zodd!”

Zodd flapped his great wings and took off, blood still spraying from his wrist. Casca cursed because he still had her sword. That annoyance, however, disappeared when she saw he was heading right for the hut. Her heart stilled and her breath was caught in her chest. She could try to keep Guts busy here or she could go after Zodd; the latter meant she couldn’t keep Guts away from the hut either, and that still meant waging this fight on two fronts, but with a higher chance of casualties.

While making her choice, the heavy slab of metal connected with her chest, sending her flying through the air, Her body caught against the hilts of several swords and knocked them out of their roosts, the metal bent and splintered in her passing. Casca finally came to a stop in one of the tall pine trees, its needles raining to the ground in mockery mourning. A pile of red metal, tired and heaving for air, resting amongst them.

It was the sound of boots crunching in the grass that finally raised Casca’s head, the helmet having retreated from her face. Guts stood over her, his sword raised over his head, both hands on the grip.

“Wait… wait!” Casca raised a hand to stop him, afraid that he would end her before he heard what she had to say.

She whispered a final apology to Judeau because if he were here now with his sensibilities still about him, he would be ashamed of what she was about to do.

Guts’ hands and sword wavered, a look of curiousity in his eye.

“What… what can I do to make this stop?”

“There’s dying, for one thing,” he replied with a smirk and tightened his fists around the bound leather.

“I was wrong, Guts. I was wrong, about everything. I never should have left. I should’ve stayed by your side, regardless of… regardless of whatever hurdle was in your path. Just, please. Please leave them out of this. They haven’t done anything.”

She shifted her gaze towards the hut, where Zodd was still heading.

“Just call him off and I’ll go with you. Just like old times.”

Guts seemed to hesitate, chewing on her suggestion.

“I know you can’t trust me, not after what I did to you. But isn’t having me at your side where you can watch me every second of the day better than not knowing what I’m doing? What I’m planning?”

The Beast was liking her idea even less. Its voice berated her with snarls and poisonous darts meant to tear down her stubbornness. But she had built that up a long time ago before they’d been bound to each other.

“Keep your friends close…” she whispered.

The Dragonslayer came down with a hollow crunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be more interesting if Casca took Zodd's teeth instead of his horn and managed to have a nice sword made out of it.  
> Don't worry, Farnese has plans for the other one. ;)


	5. Maine Coon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casca tries to bargain her way out of a fight when an unexpected "friend" shows up to save her. Again.

The sword came down in the grass next to Casca’s head, and she could see the reflection of her eyes in the sharp, refined edge. Part of her would have been glad if she’d taken her head clean off. It would be an end to all of this, and it would be someone else’s problem. But no one else was as equipped for dealing with him as she was. He had turned her into a Sacrifice and she had survived the experience. Very few others could say that. And that meant she was alive for a reason.

She would have to defy him to the bitter end to prove that she was not just another tool for him to throw away to get what he wanted. She’d had enough of that before she’d met him.

Casca glared up at him, glad that she could still breathe. Glad that with another breath, and another, she would eventually take his head right off. She would just to wait for the right inhale to come along.

“You know what will happen if this is all a trick, right? One mistake-”

“And you sever my head from my shoulders. You can do that easily enough with that sword of yours, I’ve seen it plenty of times.” It took everything Casca had to force some humour into her voice, the old humour they used to share with each other when they were teasing. And maybe, for just a second, she saw a hint of the old Guts in the way he smiled down at her.

“Get up, then. Lazy bitch.”

That smile faded into the feral smirk she’d grown more familiar with as he kicked her in the ribs. The spot was still sore and hadn’t been tended to yet, but Casca could deal with the pain for now. This ache meant nothing compared to finding three dead bodies in that hut.

“Oi! Zodd!” Guts cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed. “We’re leaving.” Zodd the Immortal looked back over his shoulder, confused. But who was he to question why Guts did what he did? He’d stopped asking that question a long time ago.

“Why aren’t you up yet?”

Right.

Casca dug her feet into the ground and slowly stood up, trying her best to ignore the armour knitting itself - and her skin - together again. The feline face retreated down her neck as well, the cooling late-night wind brushing the hot sweat from her cheeks and forehead.

“That’s better. Don’t make me think you’re starting to get old.”

She felt it too, as if she’d aged twenty years since they’d last seen each other. He, however, didn’t look a day older since then. If she were in a laughing mood, she would have asked if the God Hand’s skincare plan was worth it.

Once she was upright, though, the tip of the huge blade was pressed to her throat, the flat of it nudging her chin up a little higher. Casca could barely hear the flapping of Zodd’s wings getting closer as she found herself locked to those eyes of his.

How many times did she use to run her hands through his short crop of hair? Traced fingertips over the edges of his pointed ears? How many times felt like too many and never enough.

She felt his breath against her cheek. Smelled whatever alcohol he’d had before coming here.

Then the air pressure suddenly changed and  _ she _ was there. The Skull Witch. A large cane wrapped in facial features, wrapped in a blue-grey mass of Behelits, separated Guts’ lips from her own.

“This isn’t what I meant by keeping your enemies closer.”

The Skull Witch sat atop a steed twice Guts’ height. Both were wrapped in armour that was unlike anything either of them had ever seen before. It was a mossy green, covered in ornate flowers and spiral shapes that looked more like leaves and branches than actual armour. The face carved into the helmet was sombre, the face of a sleeping girl with short hair curled around her face. The rest of it formed some kind of elaborate hat, almost like that of a witch.

With just a twist of her wrist, the sword sliced the air towards Guts’ head. He had matched speed, however; a simple turn was all it took to deflect the blade off his pauldron, the point skirting off the black armour and knicking the leather-wrapped handle of his large blade.

“You’re starting to get on my nerves, witch.” Guts undid his sword again, ready for another first. This one, he felt, would put his talents more to the test. The Witch’s steed stamped its hooves in annoyance before rearing up, uttering a terrible piercing scream into the air. A swig of Guts’ sword raked against the bottom of its hooves, and it came down on top of it, pressing the large hunk of metal into the grass with its full weight. Even Guts was taken aback by the mount’s speed and strength.

“The feeling is mutual, Dog.” The Witch raised her staff over her head and slammed the butt of it against the ground. Thick ropy vines covered in thorns snaked out of it, and large, head-sized roses sprang up from the greenery. The petals peeled open to reveal twisted screaming faces enveloped within. Clouds of yellow gas spewed out of their open mouths and seemed to wrap around Guts in intangible tendrils, locking his arms against his sides. They snaked up his body and began to invade his nostrils. Choking, gagging sounds erupted from his throat until he coughed out clouds of the stuff. It was awful to listen to, but a song rose in Casca’s heart at the premise of him choking on his bile.

Coughing, however, soon melted into laughter. Laughter that once brought a smile to Casca’s face now shook her down to her core. Each cough spewed out more yellow smoke.

“Spare me your magic tricks, witch. How can you kill someone immortal?” Guts’ fists wrapped around the nearest vines and pulled, ignorant of the thorns clawing into the palms of his hands. He crushed each flower he could get his hands on, their mourning faces twisted into red pulp and bursting with yellowish ichor from between his fingers.

“Quite easily. If you’d just let me show you how.”

Another strike of her staff against the ground forced the vines to retreat and were instantly replaced with shadowy twisted limbs. Clawing hands of blackness reached up for the Black Dog, grasping at his feet and cloak and moaning for a feast. Guts grimaced and swung his sword down at the offending limbs.

Only for the severed arms to split into two,  _ three _ , and continue their work. Casca retreated out of reach, taken aback by the magic the Skull Witch had at her disposal.

“What is immortality to someone who suffers a withering death for eternity?” The Witch made a few gestures with her free hand, and several pairs of red eyes appeared in the darkness growing from the bottom of her staff.

Quickly, they spread like a plague and enveloped the area in rot. Grass died and went black; nearby swords began to rust and rot, blown away like dust in a soft breeze. Guts was starting to look a little pale, though his strength didn’t wane.

A large pair of hooves came crashing down and stomped out the darkness. Casca barely managed to roll away in time; the Witch remained stalwart, unfazed by Zodd’s return. In fact, her gestures grew grander, more elaborate, and the shadows beneath Zodd’s feet started to thrash wildly, growing larger and clawing up his large legs. Where they touched, his fur began to grow then wither; bald spots were instantly replaced with new fur and the process would begin again.

Zodd took a swipe at the steed and sent both it and its rider tumbling to the grass. The Witch caught herself and the horse in a gust of wind from her palms and brought them both gently to the ground. This caused the twisted roots of withering rot to retreat into the ether, leaving The Black Dog and The Immortal to shake off the last remnants of their energy-sapping powers.

“We are at an impasse,” Zodd muttered then shook his great head; the rest of his body followed until his tail whipped back and forth behind him. His red eyes remained on the Witch. Guts, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in backing down and lunged at her once more. Only to be stopped by The Immortal with a great paw. Zodd shook his head in disapproval and snatched Guts up to place him on his back.

The Black Dog did  _ not _ appreciate being treated like a child, as he continued to berate the great Zodd and bash the flat of his blade against a giant horn. Zodd flew off, and Guts’ irritated beratement diminished in volume until things were silent once again.

“Well. That’s certainly a predicament you found yourself in.” The Skull Witch stamped her staff against the ground; a light breeze curled around Casca’s waist and brought her closer. Had she really just escaped a fight with Guts because of the Witch’s presence?

“I didn’t give you that armour so you could seal your Fate with a kiss from that man,” she chided Casca sternly. Her fist closed and the breeze dropped her to the ground unceremoniously. “Please tell me that I was mistaken in what I was about to witness.”

There was something about the Skull Witch that always made Casca feel like a petulant child. Maybe it was the way that sleeping face of the armour never seemed to move, as if it was always looking at her with disapproval. Or maybe it was the way the Witch was always coming to her rescue and chastizing her in some way or another, for something she had or hadn’t done properly. It wasn’t made any better the way the Witch always talked in riddles, never speaking straightforward about what she wanted or what she expected of Casca.

_ She thinks of you as another tool for her own use. _

Casca clicked her tongue against her teeth and the Beast quieted down, though it continued to rattle at the chains she kept around it.

“I do what I have to to keep them safe.”

“Even if it means giving up yourself?”

“That’s all I’ve ever done. What’s once more?” If agreeing to go with Guts got him away from here and kept the others safe, she would do it. Because then she could watch him every second of every day and wait for her opening. What was so wrong with that kind of plan?

“As I said, that’s not why I gave you that armour.” The lips of the Witch’s helmet parted and she inserted her staff down her throat. There, the behelits disappeared within her, the staff coming away clean. She wasn’t the first time she’d done it in front of Casca, and it continued to freak out the swordswoman.

“You haven’t told me why, either. You speak in riddles, never giving me a clear answer on anything.” Casca’s grip on her sword tightened, the adrenaline still coursing through her ready for a fresh target. But even her Beast knew that taking on the Witch would be folly.

The Witch turned her head, looking to the east where the sun would rise.

“Across the sea. You may find salvation for Judea’s mind there. But beware, returning it to him may not align with your goal.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Casca bore down on the Witch before she could stop herself, the blade held against her armoured throat. She was getting real sick of this bullshit. “Why haven’t you told me this sooner?”

“It was the right time for you to know.”

“... because it will keep me away from him.” Casca’s eyes narrowed. Was this some kind of ploy to get her away from here so that she wouldn’t make the same choice again?

“Whatever reason you need to convince yourself. It is still your decision to make, regardless. Go or do not go, I do not care either way.”

The Skull Witch offered a polite bow and pulled herself back into the saddle of her horse, drew a portal in the air with the end of her staff, and disappeared through it.

The air pressure instantly lifted from the field, allowing Casca to breathe again. Her shoulders ached from how tense she was from everything that had happened. Half of Isidro’s and Farnese’s swords were gone or destroyed, and the field was no longer even from the battle.

Casca had no idea how she was going to apologize to them. Hopefully, they would understand the situation and let things slide just once.

The trek back to the cabin felt longer than when she’d left, the intensity of the battle having completely drained her. She collapsed against the front door, the weight of her armour mostly pushing it open, and she fell straight to the floor as dead weight. Even the small table she’d been eating at not too long ago shook with the weight of her fall. The smells of dinner still lingered, and she wished she could do this over again, coming back to a fresh meal with smiling faces and pleasant conversation. Not the aftereffects of having to deal with that asshole.

“Nice to see you back in one piece,” Farnese called from the back room, acid dripping from her tone. Casca didn’t reply; she was too tired to have this argument with her. Why Farnese was pissed off, she didn’t know and she didn’t care. She’d had enough on her plate tonight and she needed a break from all of this bullshit.

She pulled herself to her feet and went straight through the kitchen to the backdoor that led to the cave, where fresh spring water erupted from the ground in large pools. The rawness of her skin had been renewed from that fight and she needed some time to herself to think. With her legs undone and clothes tossed aside, Casca lowered herself into the icy-chill waters of a pool, bracing herself against the edge with her arms so that she wouldn’t sink. Goose pimples rose across her flesh and the temperate of the water stole her breath away, but she had no energy to complain. In fact, she languished in how distracted her mind already was from the fight and the riddles the Skull Witch had filled her mind with.

There she laid. For an hour or two, she didn’t know, nor did she care. The only sign of the passage of time was the moon crawling through the sky, visible through a crack in the cave ceiling. Like a pale white eye bearing down on her and judging her for...

Casca lowered herself into the water until it was over her head. She blew out great puffs of air and watched as the large bubbles broke the surface above her.

Could she just up and leave with Judeau to sail across the sea? Could she even convince him to go if he meant he had his sanity returned to him? And what of her legs? They needed regular maintenance and there was no way Farnese was going to leave this place just to follow her on a whim. Who knew if any of them would even come back?

Casca broke the surface again and wiped the water out of her eye. She’d left one home before; this would be no different. And if it meant bringing peace to Judeau’s mind...

He was worth it, she told herself. He was worth it for all of the times he’d helped her keep her head about Guts. He’d been her voice of reason, helping her to sort out her thoughts when she’d found herself spinning in every direction like a chicken without its head. Only to discover too late how much she meant the world to him, how much he cared for her. He’d helped her fall in love and denied himself the opportunity.

Casca undid her braid and soaked the tangled strands in the water, combing her fingers through to rid them of dirt.

Selfless. Judeau was selfless to a fault, at the denial of his wants and desires. He was always focused on the team and what was best for everyone as a whole, as well as making others happy. For himself, he was fine with the basics, never indulging in too much of anything if it meant denying someone else the satisfaction.

Casca shut her eye and dunked her head again before a tear slipped free. Crying wouldn’t get her anything now and it wouldn’t make her feel better. It would only drag up all the guilt and hatred for herself that she’d already buried. The only thing she could focus on now was moving forward.

The problem lay on deciding where.

She would have to bring it up tomorrow with the others and see what they thought.

“Ngh...” A pain in her side almost doubled her over. She palmed at the bruise from Guts’ boot to test how tender it was, but the pain was entirely different. It didn’t hurt to the touch; it was deeper, more in the muscle than a surface ache.

Another twist of the muscle pulled a pained grunt out of her, and worked its way down across her stomach and around to the other side, like something invisible was trying to pull her in two. These spasms continued until Casca couldn’t deal with them any longer. Pulling herself halfway out of the water, she doubled herself over to try and ease the pain, not noticing the blood that ran down the middle of her chest.

A spot of blood trickled down her thighs and spread across the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking bets on who you guys think the Skull Witch is.


	6. Russian Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with the fight over, Casca can't get the peace of mind she deserves when a member of the God Hand pays her a visit.

As the blood spread across the surface, Casca saw a face forming in the ripples, a face she recognized.

“Slan.”

“Such beautiful suffering, such pain. It’s been so long since I’ve witnessed that look on your face. The things I would do to see it again.”

From the ring of blood emerged a small bust of Slan, her head covered in snake-like tendrils constructed from the water. Blood red eyes stared back, and the red lips pulled back into a seductive smirk.

“If only you could,” Casca shot back. She’d come to learn of the rules of the God Hand, only appearing during auspicious times or when a sacrifice was to be made. Guts was a special case, allowed to roam freely in this world to do whatever he wanted. A loophole in the rules, created by his own hand.

* * *

“Push!”

Casca pulled her thighs to her chest and bore down, her eyes shut tight to the pain threatening to tear her in half. Farnese stooped near the end of the bed with hot towels in hand and giving her encouragement. Isidro was passed out on the floor, having fainted despite swearing up and down that he would help with this.

Tears welled in the corners of Casca’s eyes when she thought she could take no more... and then it was all over. The newborn slipped free from her loins, covered in amniotic fluid and blood. It looked so small, lying there, its hands curled up around its face and its legs folded together.

But what it wasn’t doing was crying.

Farnese had the umbilical cord cut and the child wrapped up in towels before Casca could touch it,  _ her child _ . It should be crying or making some kind of sound, right?

“Eirene,” Casca whispered from between the hands pressed to her face. If things were looking dire, at least she should have a name. She didn’t even know if she’d given birth to a daughter, but it was the first name that came to mind, and it felt right.

Farnese continued to say nothing, rubbing at the child’s chest, turning her over and rubbing her back in circles. Casca could see the shock of dark hair on the child’s head, the angle of her nose, and the shape of her chin through the tears distorting her vision. The child had all of that bastard’s features, a stark reminder of the night they’d spent together creating her before Guts chose to sacrifice the entire Band to the God Hand.

Casca hadn’t even known she was pregnant until a few days ago, and it had only been five months. No wonder Eirene was so small.

“Let me hold her.”

“I need to-”

“Dammit, Farnese, let me hold my fucking daughter!” she screamed, her cheeks hot with fresh tears. Was Farnese really going to choose now to argue with her?

The old woman relented of course, though Casca didn’t miss the redness in her eyes. For all of her hard ways, she was still capable of caring when it suited her.

Casca held the child in her arms and hugged her against her chest, her fingers smoothing out the down-like hair atop her head. She willed her to move,  _ to just move a little bit _ , but her wishes were not to be answered.

She lay there as still as could be, until even she started to feel cold through the layers of towels. Casca knew she couldn’t continue this forever, that they would have to do something about this eventually, but to think such a thing filled her with guilt. Barely a minute in this world, and she was already gone from it.

“Casca...”

“Wait a minute...”

“Casca.”

“I said... let me just...”

Farnese sat beside her on the bed and put her arm around her. She tugged the edges of the towels a little tighter under Eirene’s chin.

“... she’s beautiful.”

“I know. I should’ve-”

“You didn’t know. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“There’s plenty I could have done. I should have stayed here. I should have...  _ not  _ been an idiot.”

“You were out there doing what you had to do. If you’d found out you were pregnant and stayed here, then you would have felt guilty about not doing more out there.”

“I would have had  _ her _ . She would be  _ alive _ .”

“And every day, you would’ve seen that man’s face in hers. And what would you have done then? Grown to regret her? Take your grudges out on her? How would you tell her where she came from?”

Casca shrugged off Farnese’s arm and slapped her in the face. Maybe it was the hormones still coursing through her or how exhausted she was, but she felt no remorse for it.

Nor did she feel it the next day when they buried the small body amongst the field littered with swords. Isidro, feeling guilty about having not helped, picked the large bouquet of flowers he could get his hands on, having spent all morning putting them together. No one said anything or sang a song; they stood there in silence until Casca finally cast the first handful of dirt into the hole.

She remained by the small graveside the rest of the day, too, her head empty of anything else to do. Just like her father, Eirene had taken a piece of Casca with her, but unlike him, it was without malice or anger or selfishness. By just being.

Sleep eventually claimed her without her knowing, late that same afternoon. She dreamed of nothing, the exhaustion of the previous day still weighing down on her. Not even Isidro’s footsteps and laying a blanket on her could wake her up. But what did was the strangest sensation crawling up her spine and her stomach twisting in danger, telling her that something was very, very wrong. Then the Brand above her breast stung in pain, and then she  _ knew _ something was wrong.

Casca sat up in a fright and discovered that the small grave was completely empty. It wasn’t disturbed or dug out; it was as if they’d never dug a hole at all. Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and when she turned, she discovered the real “culprit.”

Guts stood there as naked as day, looking down at his hands as if he’d never seen them before. It had to be some kind of hallucination because that was the only thing that made sense. So Casca dug her knuckles against her eyes and rubbed away the sleep.

Still there.

Anger was the first emotion to bubble up. That he’d come here and dug up her child just to make her suffer more. Curiousity came next; would he kill his child? It would make more sense to steal her and sway her against Casca. Despair was a close third, how things could’ve been so different if everything hadn’t gotten so fucked up. If Eirene had lived, what kind of father Guts could have become; if not, Casca could have...

She swallowed back that thought and rose to her feet, ignoring the pain that continued to swell over her breast. If he was here, it wasn’t for something good. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had the sense to bring a sword with her.  _ Thankfully _ , she had plenty to pick from within reach.

A particularly wicked-looking curved blade seemed perfect.

* * *

Casca didn’t know which had made her angrier back then: the other reasons she’d considered Guts was there or the fact that he’d used their daughter to rip his way through the veil back into the human world.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, to see your suffering, of course. What other reason is there to be here?” Slan’s liquid form reached up to stroke Casca’s cheek and slid a little closer. “Or maybe...”

Slan’s face was mere inches from hers, wearing that knowing smile.

“Maybe it’s your turn to make  _ them _ suffer.”

From deep within the pool, bubbles trickled up to the surface. Slan turned to watch the spectacle with a grin, which grew ever wider when they both noticed a dark shape rising to the surface.

No. No no  **no no** .

_ Yes yes yes _ .

No bigger than an egg, a pair of lips and a nose protruded from the water’s surface as the Behelit made its appearance.

“My, my. Keeping secrets from your friends, are we?”

Casca was sure she’d tied the damn thing to a rock before chucking it into the pool, then dropped another rock on top of  _ that _ to keep it down there. The temptation was too great to put it to use, to make everything right again and eliminate Guts and the God Hand from this world. The price was just too high, and paying it would make her a hypocrite.

The Behelit slowly drifted towards her as if drawn to her like a magnet. The closer it came, the more she felt her Beast rattling at its chains in yearning. With it, it could finally be set free and have a chance at fulfilling every dark desire it could conceive of.

Slan plucked up the accursed object and dangled it in front of Casca’s face, droplets dripping down its twisted surface.

“You cripple yourself too much, my dear. Think of the things you could do.” She turned the Behelit this way and that, the chain glistening in the moonlight. “Like  _ legs _ , for instance.” She slipped the chain around Casca’s neck and held the object between thumb and forefinger. “Think of all the things you could make him pay for. Making you look like a fool. Taking away your friends, the man who loves you.  _ Your daughter... _ ”

Despite two years having passed, the pain of that day was still fresh, just buried deep beneath purpose and the need to survive. Even so, Casca could still recall Eirene’s face, her little hands and feet, how soft her hair was.

She took the Behelit between her fingers. Slan smiled.

“Just a thought, is all it takes, you know. A simple wish on those perfect lips of yours and the God Hand will be at your beck and call.” Slan drew closer now, her chin propped up between Casca’s breasts. The chill of the water made her nipples erect, but all she felt was disgust.

So simple. It would be so simple, to make all of this go away. But what - or who - would she have to sacrifice for all those answers?

Casca’s fingers curled around the Behelit.

_ Snap! _

The chain snapped behind her neck and fell loose around her wrist. The look on Slan’s face was anything but pleased, even as her liquid form snaked around Casca’s breast and up around her neck.

“Fool!”

“Now now, Slan. Is that any way to speak to one of your sacrifices?” Casca replied with a smile. The temptation to chuck it back into the water was strong, but she knew this would piss off the member of the God Hand even more.

“You know, you’re right. I  _ should _ keep this with me if it means it brings me back to you assholes again. The key to your invisible door. Huh. I never thought  _ you _ of all idiots would be helping me.” Casca smirked and tossed the Behelit around in her hand. The upside to keeping it instead of leaving it at the bottom of the pool was that it wouldn’t end up in someone else’s hands, and she’d had enough of apostles for a lifetime.

“Thanks, bitch.”

The moon overhead finally disappeared from overhead, leaving Casca in darkness once more. Slan’s shape faded with the moonlight, the blood-tinged water losing all form and running down Casca’s body. Despite the chill of it, it was the first in a long time that Casca wore a true smile, had an inkling of hope in her chest that any of this was possible. Now she just needed to find some way to get across the sea.

And she knew just who she could turn to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short this chapter is.


End file.
